


on my own

by just_anothercrazyfangirl



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, But then they do, First Kiss, Fluff, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, So much angst, and second, and third, but I could give a bigger fuck, if you look with a microscope you could see it, minor smut, this is literally every stucky fanfic ever, two boys who won't TALK TO EACH OTHER
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_anothercrazyfangirl/pseuds/just_anothercrazyfangirl
Summary: It had been a bad day for Steve.He’d narrowly avoided getting into a fight with a catcaller on the street, Mr. Lexington had made him close the shop much later than usual without notice, he had a pounding headache, and it was nearly midnight and Bucky still wasn’t home.





	1. Little Talks

It had been a bad day for Steve.

He’d narrowly avoided getting into a fight with a catcaller on the street, he'd had to close the shop much later than usual without notice, he had a pounding headache, and it was nearly midnight and Bucky still wasn’t home. Not like that wasn’t the usual, recently. He’d been coming home later, fooling around with a new girl every night, sneaking out in the middle of the night when he thought Steve was asleep, and never admitting anything. It made Steve want to hit something, which was why he was coming home with more and more bruises and black eyes as the months flew past. Which meant more and more of Bucky dragging him out of alleyways, pressing ice to wounds, scolding and muttering under his breath _(god, Mrs. Rogers would have my head if she saw the state in which I was leaving her child)._ He was beginning to wonder if he was getting into fights to protect people, or if now, it was more about the attention he would get from Bucky afterwards.

All this thinking about Bucky was making the headache even worse.

Steve shuffled into the kitchen, dragging an ice pack out of the icebox and pressing it to his forehead in a feeble attempt to reduce the throbbing pain. It was working, until Steve heard footsteps outside of the apartment and a familiar jingle of keys. _Bucky_.

The door swung open and he walked in, coat in hand as he closed the door behind him. He moved to the couch to take off his shoes. “Hey,”

“Hi,”

Bucky glanced quickly in the other man’s direction, then looked back and stared with narrow eyes once he spotted the bag of ice on Steve’s head. “I swear to God, Rogers, did you--?”

Steve didn’t think it would be worth mentioning the near fight he had gotten into earlier in the day. “Nah, it’s just a headache,”

He glared for a second more, then turned and collapsed onto the rickety couch. “How was your day?”

“Fine,” _A lie._ “Where’ve you been?”

Bucky stilled. “I was working late at the docks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a new shipment came in right as we were about to head out.”

Bucky got off every day at 8:30. It was 12:07, and Steve knew that with the 30 other men who worked his shift, it shouldn't take four hours to load 200 boxes onto a ship.

“Sure,” Steve muttered. The pounding in his head only intensified when Bucky looked back at him.

He rose from the couch and strolled into the kitchen, leaning across the counter from Steve. “What’s your deal?”

He pursed his lips, “Nothin’, Buck, I’ve just got a headache,”

“Has anyone ever told you how bad you are at lying?”

Steve set the ice pack on the counter. His head was starting to feel numb with the cold.

“Ste-e-ve,”

Steve bit his lip for a second before mumbling, “You weren’t at the docks that late, Buck, and you and I both know that,”

“What?”

“You really expect me to believe that it’s gonna take you four hours to load boxes onto a ship, Buck? That’s absolute _bullshit_.”

“It’s not bullshit if it’s the truth--”

And maybe it was the fight, or the headache, or his exhaustion, or maybe just the fact that Steve was getting really sick of Bucky’s constant lies, that he pressed his lips to Bucky’s in anger, in hopes of making him  _shut up_.

Bucky pulled away after a second, eyes wide with shock and confusion.

Steve recoiled in horror. _Fuck_. Now Bucky knew, and he couldn’t even look at him, and he’d ruined everything and their friendship was destroyed along with any hope for anything else and _oh god how could I have fucked this up so badly—_

"Steve!” He was on the floor, breath coming quickly as he rocked back and forth.

“Steve?”

Blood was pounding in his head. _Thump. Thump. Thump. Thum--_

“Goddammit, Rogers, look at me,” Bucky had crouched down in front of him, worry etched into his features.

Steve choked on his words, kicking himself backward until he was pressed against the wall, air coming quickly. Bucky slowly moved to sit in front of him, hands fidgeting in his lap. The only sound in the apartment was Steve’s heavy breathing.

Finally, Bucky looked up, an unruly curl flopping in his face. “When were you going to tell me?”

No response.

“Steve.”

“Tell you what?” He mumbled.

“About. . . that you’re gay, Steve,”

Another sharp inhale. “I— it’s wrong, Buck, to. . . to have feelings for a. . . guy,”

Steve closed his eyes, sinking even further down the wall. _Is it possible to collapse into yourself? Because that’s sounding pretty good right about now._ When Steve opened his eyes, Bucky was much closer than he was before. He made to move back but— damn it, he was already against the wall.

“It’s not wrong,”

“Really, Buck? Then tell me, why are people out here getting killed for. . . for giving a guy the wrong look, or talking too loud about their boyfriends, or hell, anything even relating to being. . .” he remembered where he was, their apartment with the paper-thin walls, “gay,”

He could feel his face heating with rage. He didn't even know why he was so angry.

“Steve—”

“And why are you sneaking out at night, hiding in alleyways, getting off with whoever, and then lying in my face about it?”

“You—”

“And then, you’ve got the dames on the side too, taking them home and pretending I’m not even here, So, no, I wasn’t going to tell you, because it wouldn’t have mattered in the _slightest_.”

Bucky was rendered speechless as he took in the raging man sitting across from him. “It would have mattered.”

The fire dimmed in Steve’s eyes and he settled his head into his hands. Bucky moved closer. “You do matter to me, Steve,”

“Not like this, I don’t.” He sounded miserable.

“Yes, you do,” Bucky reached for the blond, but he shrugged away and pulled impossibly closer to the wall.

“No, I don’t. Like, yesterday, you came home with some girl really late and the next morning, she was gone before I’d woken up. I didn’t ask, because I knew you’d lie about it, just like you lie about everything else.”

It grew quiet in the apartment. “I didn’t know you were awake that late,” Bucky responded quietly.

“No kidding,” he muttered. Lights danced before Steve’s eyes, and he closed them in a vain attempt to keep from crying.

“How did you know?”

“Know what?”

Bucky fidgeted again with his hands, eyes flitting everywhere but Steve. “About the guys,”

He just shrugged.

Bucky nodded, more to himself, “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have lied to you.”

“Why did you?”

“I don’t know.”

 _Silence._ When Steve opened his eyes again, Bucky was gone. He remained on the floor like that for a long time, knees curled to his chest, tears flowing freely down his face.

Loneliness wasn’t all that bad once you got used to it.


	2. Heaven and Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was hell for the next week.
> 
> They avoided each other constantly, and when Steve woke up in the mornings, the other side of the bed was cold. They didn’t talk, or even acknowledge the other’s presence. He was so frustrated that years of friendship could be destroyed so easily, with one simple coversation.

It was hell for the next week.

They avoided each other constantly, and when Steve woke up in the mornings, the other side of the bed was cold. They didn’t talk, or even acknowledge the other’s presence. He was so  _ frustrated _ that years of friendship could be destroyed so easily, with one simple conversation.

He sat on the stool at the counter, drumming his pencil on his blank sketchbook. It’d been harder to draw lately, and Steve wanted to curse himself for being so  _dependent_ on Bucky. Hell, he couldn't even draw without thinking of him. He wanted to hit something, or someone. It was a miracle that he'd come home this past week without being beat to a pulp. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it wasn't. 

He heard Bucky before he saw him. The familiar click of the keyhole, the turn of the handle, and his soft humming drew Steve’s attention. He glanced at the clock. 8:45. Steve pretended he didn’t notice that since Friday, Bucky hadn’t been home late once.

_ He’s doing it for you. _

Steve told that little voice to go to hell. He slid off the stool and made for the hallway.

“Hey,” Steve froze. Bucky hadn’t said anything to him since Friday.

“Hi,”

It was unnervingly quiet in the small room, Steve shuffling awkwardly on his feet as Bucky pulled off his shoes and settled onto the couch, and it was very reminiscent of that day and Steve wasn’t sure he liked the similarities because that day was horrible and  _ okay it’s time to leave now-- _

He hadn’t even noticed he was walking until he was halfway into the bedroom and Bucky called, “Steve?”

He paused, uncertain as he came slowly into the hallway. “Hi,”

Bucky was sitting criss-cross on the couch, face stoic and more serious than Steve has seen it in months. He hovered uncomfortably by the edge of the table, Bucky’s expression growing more and more annoyed. “Jesus, Steve, sit down, would ya?”

He perched on the armrest, and he didn’t need to look up to know that Bucky was rolling his eyes. Steve could do annoyed just as well. “What do you want?”

“I was thinking that sooner or later we’d need to talk about. . .  Friday,”

“What’s there to talk about Friday?” Steve narrowed his eyes and slid off the armrest into the cushions.

“Steve.”

“Buck.”

They stared each other down for a moment, before Bucky sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I guess I. . .  didn’t think that was a good way for us to end our conversation.”

“You left!” Steve retorted.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,”

He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, realizing Bucky was right. Who knows? The next day, Bucky might’ve gone to work with a black eye. Or two.

When he came back to focus, Bucky was staring at him intently, as though he knew he wanted to say something.

He fiddled with lint on the couch cushion uncomfortably before mumbling, “I wasn’t planning on telling you.”

Bucky made a low, unhappy sound in the back of his throat. “Why?”

A shrug. “Thought you’d react badly.”

“React how?”

He breathed out slowly, not daring to meet the other’s eye. “Kick me out or something, I’m not really sure--”

“Steven Grant Rogers, I swear to God above if you actually think that I would _kick you out of_ _our apartment_ , you _must_ be stupid.” Steve flinched at his volume.

“It’s happened with other people--”

“I’m not other people, though,” and Bucky was looking at him in this way that was physically starting to hurt Steve’s heart, so he turned his head away.

“People are getting killed, Buck,”

“I know.”

“I wasn’t sure, I mean, I didn’t know if you thought they deserved it--”

Bucky’s face was an expression of pure horror and Steve regretted saying anything. “No, no! Of course not, that’s horrible, and if I ever gave you the impression that I thought. . . ”

He nodded, worrying his bottom lip and staring into nothing. Very quietly, after a moment, Steve said, “I have a question.”

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you lie to me?” His voice sounded so broken and he wanted to take the question back, but it was too late. Bucky considered this for a moment, and Steve could practically see the gears in his head turning.

“I’m not sure,” Bucky began slowly.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

"Bucky,”

Bucky pulled at invisible strings on the cushions, words flying around in his brain. He sighed, long and heavy before saying, “I was doing it to distract myself.”

Steve’s interest was slightly peaked, and he sat up a little straighter to look Bucky in the eye. “From what?”

He didn’t like it when Bucky was quiet for too long, and the other’s silence was causing him to worry even more. “I’ve been trying to distract myself from someone,”

“Someone? Who wouldn’t be in love with Bucky Barnes?” Steve joked.

He wasn’t granted with the smile he was searching for. Bucky only shrugged.

“But. . .  what does that have to do with you lying?”

He could sense, rather than see, Bucky wince. “I thought they’d see me differently, if they knew. And I didn’t want to come home and have them watch me drunkenly stumble over some new girl every other day. I didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

And maybe Bucky kept talking, but Steve had already stopped listening past, “ _ I didn’t want you to be disappointed.” _

_ You. _

His mouth felt dry when he said, “Why would I be disappointed?”

“For being too much of a coward to ever say anything to you.” Bucky was looking at him that  _ way  _ again, and Steve felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“You’re not a coward,”

“Steve--”

“ _ Bucky.  _ You’re not a coward.”

“Neither are you,”

At this, Steve sat up straighter. “I know,”

Bucky chuckled and pulled Steve into his lap. “I’m sorry,”

Steve’s head was fuzzy. “What?”

“I’m tryin’ to apologize here, Rogers,”

“For?”

“Lying,”

“Oh,” Steve was preparing to say something snarky about how he could repay him, but then Bucky’s lips were on his, firm but gentle. When he pulled away, Steve wanted to faint.

The idiot had the audacity to look amused. He drummed his fingers against Steve’s back and hummed when Steve’s fingers tangled in his hair.

“That wasn’t even a real kiss, Steve,”

Bucky tasted like liquorice and apples, and Steve was thrumming all over when they finally pulled away again.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered like this,” Bucky noted, nosing his way down Steve’s neck.

Bucky sucked a bruise into Steve’s collarbone, and he must’ve gasped out loud because Bucky was laughing into his shoulder and unsuccessfully trying to hide it.

“You suck,”

Bucky pulled away suddenly, a wide smirk plastered on his face. “Do you want me to stop?”

Steve pulled his hair in response. “God, no,”

_ Never. _

His face changed from a smirk to a genuine smile. “I think we could manage that,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that it took so long to write this, y'all. School is horrible, midterms are crappy and the American school system is pure shit, so I have had literally no time whatsoever, but YAY! It's done! My first ever completed fanfiction is done, and I'm actually really proud of it. If you want me to write more stuff, leave kudos and comments, and I will. Give me inspiration please or I'll fade into the background of this website and I really don't want to do that, sooooooo...  
> Thank you loves <3


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